


Dinner Tomorrow Night

by wongweed



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Drabble-ish?, M/M, Soft Porn, soft, writing excersise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:21:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24309640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wongweed/pseuds/wongweed
Summary: Basically a writing exercise I'm trying and what's better way than lumark and possible phone sex. LMAO!
Relationships: Mark Lee/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	Dinner Tomorrow Night

I picked up the phone on the third ring. "Xuxi!" I laughed the next moment, out of breath because of the quick strides I took to reach my phone that was abandoned on the coffe table perched in the living room from the adjacent kitchenette.

"Baby," Lucas voice boomed through the speaker and I belatedly realised the speaker had been pressed on in my haste. It startled me, but it was worth the surprise. He sounded as bouyant as ever: giant of restless energy bouncing about the ball of his feet. The positivity was palpable through the receiver. It was as if he was right next to me, speaking into my ear, his arms around my waist, his taut chest against my back pressed to the brim. The warmth of his muscular arms cocooning me to safety.

I smiled to myself, felt the heat rising to my cheeks from the depth of my belly, and hitched the phone firmer. Desperate, perhaps. I missed the warmth of his voice so much which was ridiculous considering we talked earlier this morning. He was a sweet and attentive lover, taking initiatives at every opportunity he could triumph over.

I hummed, finding myself in the comfort of the couch laid next to the coffe table, and grabbed the cushion to plop my below on. "Your baby." If I were to look at my reflection in the mirror, I bet, I would paint a fool in love.

"Mine. Of course mine. Forever. My baby lion." He cooed, his pitch louder than earlier. It always amazed me how exuberant he was despite the routine being quite mundane. "Anyways, what should I bring with me for tomorrow's dinner date?"

"Get me apple juice." I broke into a fit of giggles, leaning into the backrest of the couch, and stared at the ceiling. It was littered with numerous flouroscent stickers of stars, moons, and other shapes —courtsey of Wong Yukhei aka Huang Xuxi aka Lucas; his boyfriend of two years.

There was immediate melancholy swirling in my chest, constricting my voice, and I bled into it in a coarse. I hissed, sinking fingertips into the innocent pillow. "Fuck. I miss you so much. I even bought ingredients for your favourite dish. You better not bail on me, Xuxi."

"I dare not, Mark. In fact, I'm all packed and on my way to leave for Seoul in—" he paused, cluck his tongue, "two hours."

I sighed, shoulders dropping lax, and closed my eyes shut. Inadvertently, the next moment I spoke was nothing if not wanton. "I miss you. I miss you so much."

It had been months of separation and I'm as human as one can be with a healthy body aching caused by separation from their beloved. Physical need was of importance to me contrary to how I presented myself in public. Besides, it would be blasphemous to have a boyfriend with the physique of Adonis and voice of Eros incarnate and lead a life of abstinence.

"Awww," his voice dropped, followed by a low gradually fading to a guttaral rumble. He was thinking. His eyes were probably searching for something —me. I heard him say something to his friends, our friends, in his native tongue rapidly, followed by door slams.

I whispered, though I was all alone in our apartment. "Are you?"

"Yes," came his breathless reply. "Tell me Markie, what are we eating beside my favourite?"

The nerve of that sly bastard.

"You're the one cooking, Xuxi." I was sailing into a pyre without any protective materials. "For dessert, it's cookies n'cream ice-cream." There was an urgency to take the extra layers of clothings off. Reduced to the overworn tank top —the neckline hung past the pectorals— and the good old briefs. 

"Aren't you tired of the same thing, Markie?" He mused, dragging out a whine of me. It was embarrassing despite not being our very first time. I was aware of my wontonness, but it never ceased to appall me.

"The flavour's got nothing on it. It's a personal favourite." It was his favourite to touch the crown, lay kisses on it, followed by the full press of his lips, and his warmth surrounding it. It was his favourite to tease and lick, make a mess out of me. And consequently, mine too. The recreational endeavours on my part never felt as good as his, but I thrived regardless; thumb and fingertips all desperate and firm.

"Sweet and creamy and bit of bulk, ain't it?" His lips were always plush, thick, and warm as they go down and down till the brim, followed by a coy gleam dancing in his eyes.

"It feels like home." I fisted my hand, swallowing down a wretched keening noise though it was a meek attempt at secrecy.

"It sure does, given you look quite blissful savoring each bite." Images of his ruddy lips and velvet tongue kissing and lapping, canine peeking before taking whole again.

"Mhmn…. It's delightedly rich and creamy." Shudders travelled down my spine, breath hitching, and another gasp.

"Are you, Markie?" He would look up, ready to hold and make me beg. 

"Yes." I was eager. Always eager and impatient, grabbing his hand, and taking a bite larger than containable.

"Good, baby. I'll feed you myself tomorrow night." He would praise, wiping the mess clean, kissing my cheeks, and lips.

"Dessert before full course?" I watched the mess in my palm with little of guilt, wiping it down on the shirt I took off earlier. Laundry was in for tonight anyways.

"We could have it in the morning and I'll buy another one for later?" 

"Sounds right."

"Love you."

"Love you."

* * *

Don't ask what this is. I'm just going with whatever fucking flow. Lmao. I miss lumark. COME BACK HOME 😭

[twt](https://mobile.twitter.com/ggoogoooz)


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